


Unspoken

by BloodySymphony



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, M/M, Maybe more - Freeform, Minor Character Death, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Season/Series 04, Slow Burn, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 10:16:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12651561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodySymphony/pseuds/BloodySymphony
Summary: The Dead Pool has been discovered. With only what they believe to be the first third of it deciphered, everyone is wondering who is going to be named next. Without this knowledge, there's no way for them to know that there could be people on the list that they never would have guessed - at least, not until it's too late.





	Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

> First thing, this story follows the general plot of Season 4, so if (for some reason) you haven't watched that far, beware of spoilers. Also, be aware there will be scenes from the show included, they'll just have more information/explanation/exposition added to it for the purposes of my story, from Stiles' perspective.  
> However, despite this, some things I have changed the order of. Only very minor things, so don't worry about it too much.
> 
> Also, ignoring relationship between Stiles and Malia, they're just friends, she's just very attached to him - their time at Eichen House DID happen, though, it just never went further.  
> Also ignoring Derek/Braeden, just 'cause I don't like her that much and it over-complicates my plans :)
> 
> The story starts from the beginning of Season 4, Episode 5, 'I.E.D' and continues from there, with obvious canon-divergence.
> 
> I came up with this story today as I was re-watching Teen Wolf, and inspiration just smacked me in the face.  
> I'm not going to promise regular updates, as I can't keep promises like that, as I learned with my other story, which is about to start up again after about a year and a half long hiatus.  
> I am a busy person; I am a teacher, I work long hours, I get tired, but I also have somewhat of a social life, so don't get too upset, please, if there are long-ish gaps between chapters. I will try to update as often as I can.
> 
> Make sure you are aware of the warnings - I will probably add more as the story goes on.  
> I am also from the UK, so, spelling may be different for some viewers, but I'm trying to make an effort to use American terminology for some things, as I want it to sound genuine, as Teen Wolf is set in America. Obviously. I'll also try to stick to American rules for other things as well, hence the underage tag. Though he's 17 in this story, and in the UK our legal age is 16, I'm sticking to American rules, so 17 is still underage.
> 
> This is a work of fiction. I own nothing; any direct quotes, scenes or characters that are from the TV show belong to the creators.

**Chapter 1**

_‘So, the Walcotts were the first. At least, the first that we know about. Four murders: Sean, his brother, and their parents. They were killed by a professional assassin called The Mute. Weapon of choice, a military tomahawk; but then The Mute was killed by Peter Hale after he tried to blow up Derek with a Claymore mine. Next was Demarco. He delivered a keg to the party at Lydia's lake house, and got decapitated outside his car.’_

Stiles stood in front of his board, frown marring his forehead as he mentally ran through the evidence, sticking it up with red tape as he went. He lifted the last picture and pinned it up with the rest.

_‘And then, last night, 23-year-old Carrie Hudson.’_

Sighing, he took a step back to look at the full picture, pulling a folded up paper out of his pocket. Well, it was a start.

‘ _First thing’s first,’_ he thought as he held up the sheet, peering at it apprehensively, his friends’ names standing out to him like sore thumbs, ‘ _we’ve got to tell Dad.’_

A light knock on his door frame brought him back to reality with a start. Turning quickly, his expression calmed on seeing his best friend’s face, concern plainly broadcast on his features. Scott McCall – open book.

“Hey, Scotty,” Stiles mumbled, turning back to check his board once more, before sticking the sheet up, crossing the names of the dead off with a red highlighter.

“Hey,” the Alpha replied, “you ready to head out?”

“Yeah, sure, just give me a minute to put my shoes on.”

As Stiles pulled himself away from the board to find his scattered shoes, Scott took his place in front of it, peering at it with open curiosity. Stiles, having finally gathered both shoes from opposite corners of his room, sat on the bed to put them on.

“I don’t know how you do it, man,” Scott awed.

“Do what?” Stiles muttered, pulling his shoes on.

“Well, this,” he gestured widely at the board, “you’re like, a better detective than most of the people at the Sheriff’s department, but you’re only 17.”

“Bit of an exaggeration there, buddy,” Stiles replied dismissively, tying the laces on his second shoe, before standing up quickly, “but thanks for the compliment, I guess.”

He jerked his head towards the door, and they both made a move, Scott waiting anxiously as his friend turned to lock the door behind them when they left. The late afternoon sun was stunning, making an almost serene, pleasant scene. Stiles scoffed inwardly at Mother Nature’s joke. There was nothing pleasant, or serene, about Beacon Hills right now. He clapped his friend on the shoulder before they separated to opposite sides of the car. Starting the engine, Stiles futilely went over the evidence again in his head, preparing to break the news of a _supernatural dead pool_ to his poor father. As if the guy didn’t have enough problems.  
He sighed again, putting the car into gear, and pulling away from his house in the direction of the Sheriff’s department as the sun slowly set over their town.

 

* * *

 

 

His dad took it pretty well, all things considered. Stiles didn’t know if it was a good or a bad thing, that everyone was getting so accustomed to these life threatening situations, that it just didn’t seem to faze them anymore. His dad’s calm, pragmatic response to hearing about the dead pool could have also have something to do with the fact that it significantly lowered the chances that his son was going to bite it, this time. After the Nogitsune fiasco, Stiles wasn’t sure his dad could take any more stress like that.

He winced slightly at the thought of the dark kitsune, bringing his hands up to rub his temples with his fingers. While he was mostly fine, and told everyone that he was, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the trickster fox had left something behind. It was there, pulsing occasionally at the back of his mind if he concentrated on it enough. It didn’t seem to affect him much, other than the nightmares, migraines, and the increase in his ADHD symptoms - his Adderall not really working anymore - but he had managed to keep them out of the limelight, unwilling to worry his father, or friends, and reluctant to let anyone jump to any conclusions. He was fine. There was nothing to tell, anyway. The Nogitsune was gone. 

He shook his head slightly as he remembered where he was. Looking around the class, he relaxed when he saw that no one had really noticed his lack of attention, and went back to looking through the crime scene photos piled on his desk, trying to find a clue as to who was going around killing supernatural creatures now that The Mute was dead. In the back of his mind, he heard Coach lecturing the class in his regular loud, angry tone, clearly comparing economics to lacrosse again, if the lacrosse stick clutched in his hand was anything to go by. Stiles ignored him until the lacrosse stick hit his desk with a bang, causing Stiles to jump, startled from his trance-like state.

“You know, Stilinski, if I could grade you on how profoundly you disturb me, you'd be an A plus student,” the man said, glancing uneasily between the grizzly crime scene photos in Stiles’ hands, and the face of the 17-year-old boy holding them.

Stiles hesitated slightly, before awkwardly replying with, “Thanks, Coach...”

Finstock stood again, telling him to put the pictures away, when Stiles noticed the shape of the handle of the lacrosse stick, which was now perched on his desk again. He grabbed it, comparing it to the photos in his hand as Coach yelled at him, realisation hitting him like a brick to the head.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles grabbed his phone from his bag when the time-out was called for Brett’s injury. Checking it, he saw three missed calls, along with an angry ‘pick up the fucking phone’ message, all from Lydia. He quickly pressed call, and put the phone to his ear, before it was quickly answered.

“Finally!” Lydia exclaimed, exasperated, “I’ve tried calling you a million times!”

“Actually, it was three times,” Stiles replied calmly, “and you can’t exactly carry a phone around with you during a lacrosse game, Lydia. What’s the emergency?”

Lydia huffed on the other end of the line, before continuing, “We cracked it.”

“What, the cipher?” Stiles cried out, “how?!”

“Meredith,” she replied sombrely, “turns out we didn’t need to get into Eichen House to see her, because she came to find me.”

“So, she gave you the key?”

“In a roundabout way, I guess,” she replied, grumpily.

“So,” Stiles sounded out slowly, “who’s on it?”

“Hold on,” she said, the sound of paper rustling in the background, “Kate Argent for twelve million, Kira’s mom for five million, Joanne McLaughlin, Steve Grace, Tom Hill, and Brett Talbot all for one million each, Richard Benefield, Jack Marsland, Joy Waldrop and Cheryl Calix all for a quarter of a million each, and…”

Stiles noted her hesitation, his stomach tightening with worry, “And?”

“…and Jordan Parrish for five million.”

“What?!” Stiles shouted at the unexpected entry, drawing eyes to him, “Parrish? As in my dad’s deputy? That Parrish?!”

“Yes, Stiles!” she replied, irritated, “that Parrish.”

Stiles’ mind was reeling over what Deputy Parrish, the young, attractive, and kind deputy, could possibly be. Then something clicked in his mind.

“Wait, go back,” he said, already moving quickly in Scott’s direction, “did you say Brett Talbot?”

“Yes… why?”

"Shit."

He reaches his Alpha in time to catch the end of what he was saying to Liam and Kira.

“…still not right; we’re missing something.”

“Guys!” Stiles interrupted, phone still at his ear, “Lydia just broke another third of the list.”

All three heads jerked up at this, Liam looking worried.

“Am I on it?” he asked anxiously.

“No,” Stiles replied, glancing at him before turning back to Scott, “but someone else is.”

“Who?” Scott asked seriously. Stiles glanced warily in the direction of the school building.

“Brett.”

Scott’s face paled, as he turned towards the school and sprinted inside.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles struggled to keep hold as the body in front of him convulsed violently, Derek Hale across from him with a hold on the other arm, his permanent frown looking more concerned than usual.

“What the hell is happening to this kid?!” Stiles cried out as the boy start spewing up bright yellow liquid.

Deaton moved behind Derek quickly, a scalpel in hand, “He’s been poisoned by a rare wolfsbane; I need to make an incision, and you need to hold him as still as possible.”

Brett continued his intense convulsions, Stiles and Derek both failing to keep any part of the boy from moving.

“Hey, Derek,” Stiles said edgily, “how about a little werewolf strength?”

Derek gave him an exasperated look, but he could see some pain in the older man’s eyes which quickly disappeared, only to be replaced with mild anger.

“Yeah, I’m not the only one with werewolf strength,” he pointed out irritably, indicating the writhing body with his eyes.

Deaton interrupted their spat quickly, “If you can’t hold him still, the incision might kill him.”

“Derek, he’s slipping!” Stiles called out, struggling, “I don’t think I can hold him!”

At those words, Brett’s eyes shot open, and he shoved his arms out, knocking all three men backwards, before he quickly stood up, turning towards the door before a fist came out of nowhere striking him hard in the face. The boy fell to the ground, out cold for the time being.  
Everyone paused for a moment, looking warily at Peter, whose eyes began to glow blue with power briefly, before they went back to normal in a blink. He gave Derek a long look, before glancing down at the boy at his feet.

“I guess I still have a little werewolf strength myself,” he said quietly, glancing pointedly back at Derek. Stiles glanced between the two of them, a frown on his face, before Derek replied.

“Yeah, maybe more than a little.”

Peter smirked at his nephew; a face even a mother would punch. Stiles noticed Peter’s gaze go down slightly and followed it, noticing the 3 light scratches marring Derek’s forearm, which said wolf was glaring down at. They weren’t healing. Stiles’ mind whirred, wondering what this could mean.  
He peered down at Brett, who lay still before him, when he noticed how still.

“Hey, doc,” he called out, “I don’t think he’s breathing.”

He and Deaton crouched beside the prone body, before the vet proceeded to make an incision straight down the centre of the boy’s chest, Brett letting out a pained cry. A puff of yellow steam spraying out of the wound caused Stiles to gape in fascinated horror, before he came to his senses.

“Is he okay?” he asked quietly, looking around at the younger Hale covertly. He noticed Derek was looking at his arm again, the scratches still there, but an instant later they were gone. Stiles turned his head back quickly before Derek looked up, but he caught Peter giving him a suggestive smirk. Ignoring it, he looked to Deaton, who was replying to his question.

“…be fine, but probably be out for a while.”

There was a pause as everyone settled, before Stiles caught something.

“Hey, guys, do you hear that?” he said pointlessly, as everyone was already staring at Brett, “I think he’s saying something.”

Deaton bent over the boy with a frown, listening for a few seconds, before he sat back up.

“Three things cannot long be hidden,” he said tensely, “the sun, the moon, and the truth; it’s Buddhist.”

Deaton looked up at Derek while he was talking, who then looked tellingly at his Uncle, causing Peter’s gaze to meet his.

Peter glanced away for a moment, before looking back at his nephew.

“Satomi,” he stated. All three older men stared at each other meaningfully for a while before Stiles cracked.

“Okay,” he said quietly, breaking the tension, “I’ll bite; who the hell is Satomi?”

All three glanced in his direction, before looking to each other again. Peter sighed, turning back to Stiles.

“She’s another alpha from this area; one of the oldest of our kind alive today. The Buddhist saying is how she teaches her werewolves to control the shift, as she had poor control in her youth. She was good friends with my sister, Talia,” he paused momentarily, “she’s been in this area for almost seventy years – ever since she got out of an internment camp for the Japanese in this area called-”

“Oak Creek,” Stiles interrupted pensively as the metaphorical puzzle came together in his head.

“And how, exactly, did you know that?” Peter drawled. The other two were giving him a strange look as well.

“Uh, it was something in a story we were told when,” he cut his own words off before swallowing the lump in his throat, keeping his head angled down “during the whole… Nogitsune thing, you know.”

His voice had trailed off at the end, but everyone had heard, and now they were all frowning in concern, as everyone did whenever he brought _that_ up. Despite this, they were all giving him looks to continue. He sighed.

“Look, I don’t know much,” he muttered, “Scott and Kira were the ones who got the full story, and I just got a vague summary later on; you know what Scott’s like.”

They continued to look at him pointedly.

“Oh, fine!” he relented, “basically Kira’s mom – you know, Kitsune, super old, but looks great for being like, 900 years old – was in the Oak Creek internment camp as well, and briefly mentioned a bitten werewolf woman that didn’t have good control, which I assume is Satomi. That’s it!”

The tension dropped again, as it was clear there was nothing serious about the information, or in why Stiles knew about Oak Creek.

They all decided it was about time to leave after that. It was late, and there was nothing else they could do that night. Peter left immediately, shooting a knowing smirk in Stiles’ direction, which confused him. After helping Deaton lift Brett back onto the table, Derek and Stiles filtered out, walking slowly to the parking lot.  
Stiles thought about what had happened earlier, with Derek. The pained look in his eyes when Stiles brought up werewolf strength, Peter’s pointed glances and comments, and the cuts that took too long to heal.

He thought about asking about it, and took a quick breath to do just that, but Derek spoke out first.

“You okay to get home on your own?”

It was odd. His tone seemed almost… concerned. Caring. Stiles peered at the older man curiously for a moment, before Derek awkwardly glancing away reminded him he’d been asked a question.

“Y-yeah, I’ll be fine,” he stuttered out, clearing his through slightly before letting out a chuckle, “I mean, it’s not like my name’s on the Dead Pool.”

Derek gave him a tight, unconvincing smile and a nod, before turning to his glorious Camaro and getting in. He didn’t start the engine yet, giving Stiles a look through his windshield, one of his eyebrows raised impatiently. Stiles gave him a confused look before it struck him.

Derek wasn’t leaving until Stiles was safe and gone in his car. He quickly scurried to his Jeep, trying not to allow his mind to jump to the many illogical conclusions it was jumping to explain the grumpy wolf’s reasoning. Instead, he put his jeep into gear, giving the Hale one last long look before peeling out of the parking lot towards home.


End file.
